


Vehk and Vehk

by RuBecSo



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind
Genre: Drug Use, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Homelessness, Implied Vivec/Nerevar, Implied/Referenced Prostitution, Resdayn, Skooma, Time Travel, future self visits past self, non-binary characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 03:41:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16611239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuBecSo/pseuds/RuBecSo
Summary: While high out of their mind, Vehk the Mortal is visited by Vivec the God. They have an awkward conversation about choice, culpability, and poetry.





	Vehk and Vehk

**Author's Note:**

> Holy crap, I actually wrote a thing. This is probably the longest bit of prose I've written all year.
> 
> Written while listening to the 'You Want it Darker' album by Leonard Cohen. Not sure if the two are connected.

The light of the moons reflected off the smooth, lilac stone of the Mournhold Palace. Even down in the low streets of the docks the spires were visible, peering over the dark rooftops, a pale contrast to the ash-grey sky behind. The narrow, grimy alleys were filled with strange, purple-tinged light. 

As Vehk half-floated, half-staggered their way down one such alley, it seemed to them that the moonlight had cast a spell on the grey stones and dusty path. Everything seemed more beautiful tonight.

Then again, that might have been the skooma talking. The sugar vapours had a way of making anything (or indeed anyone) more beautiful.

Halfway down the alley they turned onto a small, branching path. The turn was narrow and wreathed in shadows, such that the unobservant might walk straight past it if they were not paying attention. This opened out into an alcove, sheltered from the rain and ash by a crude, mud-slat roof. Beneath lay a faded bedroll, a bug-lamp with a few drops of fuel remaining, and a skooma pipe. It wasn’t quite a house, and it certainly wasn’t a home. Vehk had had neither for many years. But it was a quiet place and (for now) it was theirs.

Vehk sat cross-legged on the bedroll and reached for the skooma pipe. They flipped open the small metal chamber on top. It was empty, of course; they weren’t so stupid as to leave their sugar lying around where any other vagabond might find it. They pulled a small parcel from their belt pouch, and dropped a few crystals into the chamber. They then lit the guar-tallow candle below, let it cook for a few moments, then breathed in the sweet-tasting vapours through the long, bamboo pipe.

They closed their eyes as they slowly exhaled, leaning back against the alcove wall. They ran one hand over the cool, smooth mud-bricks. The other hand caressed the coarse, grooved weave of the bedroll. It was only a few layers thick, worn thin and stained by many nights’ work. Vehk had little natural padding of their own, being something of a collection of bones held together by sugar and stubbornness. When they woke each morning, they already had bruises on their hips and knees before the day’s work had even begun.

But that didn’t matter right now. Right now, this was all they needed.

It was a shame someone was about to interrupt them. Vehk had long learned to trust the prickling behind their eyes that told them they were being watched. 

“Move along, serjo. I’m taking no more clients tonight.” They kept their eyes closed, partly because the lids were heavy with vapours, and partly to appear more nonchalant than they felt. “Go find another molly boy.” 

If they hadn’t been so high, they probably would have done a far worse job of acting unafraid about whoever had decided to follow them.

“I do not wish to speak with them. I wish to speak with you.”

Something about the voice sent a shiver running through Vehk, as if it had been whispered in their ear. It was not an entirely unpleasant feeling. Still, they reached for the chitin dagger at their waist.

“I said, move alo—”

They stopped short when they opened their eyes. The face looking down on them was wreathed in twisting, shifting flames that encircled their head like a lion’s mane. Lit up by the fiery locks was a slender face with high cheekbones and a fine jawline. One eye was golden in a golden face, not unlike Vehk’s own, albeit with far less caked-in dirt. The other eye was blood-red though, and set in a steel-blue face. The split between familiar gold and alien blue ran down the mer’s forehead, split their nose and lips in two, and continued down their neck and chest. A simple loincloth hung from their waist. In their hands they carried a long spear, intricately carved with a curved, barbed tip. The figure seemed taller than was natural, but looking down Vehk could see this was actually because they were floating about a foot above the ground.

Vehk whistled under their breath. “Veloth’s eyes. M’jinza must have given me the good stuff by mistake.” 

The figure cocked their head to the side. They seemed disappointed.

“I thought I would be more afraid.”

Vehk laughed, a high-pitched, childlike sound. “You thought _you’d_ be afraid?” They pointed to the figure’s flaming hair.

The visitor’s particoloured lips twisted into a smirk. 

“I am you, Vehk.” 

Vehk pushed themself up off the ground. They supposed they had nothing better to do than humour this skooma vision. They peered closer at the visitor’s face.

“Yes, you do look a bit like me,” they said, expecting to feel heat from the flames but instead feeling nothing but a warm breeze, “I suppose that must mean something. But forgive me, vapour-vision, I cannot divine it.”

The figure seemed to regard them with just as must amused curiosity.

“Perhaps it would be more resonant to say: a part of me was once a part of you.”

Vehk leaned back against the alley wall. “So you come from the future then?”

The figure seemed to consider it. 

“The tyranny of linear time holds… less sway over me than most. But yes, you might say that.”

Vehk gestured to the discoloured half of the vision’s body.

“So, what happens to bruise us so?”

“Power comes with a price. Or maybe some prices come with hidden powers.”

“And how do we come by this power?” They leaned in with a raised brow, as if conspiring with a fellow daggerlad.

“Part of me always had it. But the part of me that was you, stole it.”

Vehk grinned. “That does sound like me.” They cast a hand towards their meager living space. “What brings you here, then? Nostalgia?

“Nostalgia…” the figure pondered, either missing or intentionally ignoring Vehk’s sarcasm, “A delicious word, that. It means ‘homecoming pain’.” Something like weariness flitted across their face. “Yes, perhaps that is why I am here.”`

The figure floated down until their feet touched the ground, or perhaps made an impression of doing so. They slowly paced to and fro.

“I find myself needing to choose what aspects of my many possible lives to keep. Which threads to weave into the whole, and which to cut. It is a lot like poetry. Which words one does not use are often as important as those one does.”

The figure’s face seemed to shift, like dust settling in disturbed water. For a moment, Vehk could see past the pomp and fire. What they saw there looked a lot like shame.

“There are some things a god cannot be.”

“Like what?” asked Vehk. It occurred to them, in a distant sort of way, that at some point they had stopped thinking of the visitor as a mere skooma vision.

“A thief,” they replied, “A murderer. A netchiman’s child.”

Vehk’s jaw clenched of its own accord. 

“I have put many years and much sugar into forgetting our father.”

“I know.” Their voice sounded almost kind.

“And our mother?” The words lingered in Vehk’s throat, clawing at them from the inside before they spat them out. “Was she too lowly to have birthed a god?”

The figure’s mismatched eyes caught Vehk’s own. The answer was clear.

Vehk ran a hand through their long, dirty hair. “For that, you would strike her from your history? What did she do to deserve that?”

The figure reached out a bluish hand and gently cupped Vehk’s face. Some kind of lightening lurked behind their touch.

“Come now. You already know the value of a good self-story. Do you use the same face for both the clients you pleasure and the daggerlads you gut?”

Vehk jerked away. “That’s different. I know who I really am, even if they do not.”

“True.” The figure clasped their hands behind their back. “That is a luxury I cannot afford.”

“Is godhood such a restriction?”

“I supposed so.” The visitor resumed their pacing. “You need only suit one person at a time. I must choose a face to suit an entire people.”

Vehk smirked. “Which is it then?”

For the first time, the visitor looked confused. “Which is what?”

“Are you pleasuring this people, or gutting them?”

A smile like starlight split the visitor’s face.

“Both.” they replied.

Vehk found they were smiling along, despite themself. They forced their face into neutrality. 

“Did you come to ask for my permission?” they asked. “Because you’ll not receive it. Not that that makes any difference, I’d wager. Gods usually do as they will.”

“Yes. We do as we Will.” The visitor seemed to place a special emphasis on the last word, which Vehk could not decode.

They shrugged and sat back down upon the bedroll. “Then we have nothing more to discuss.”

The visitor turned and made as though to walk away along the alley. Then, as Vehk reached for the pipe again, they stopped and spoke:

“What if I wrote her a new end?”

Vehk frowned. “A good one?”

“A better one than she got.”

For a few moments they were silent, the mortal and the god.

“I suppose that’ll have to do.”

Again the figure seemed to walk away, and again they stopped and turned back.

“A noble mer will visit you soon.”

Vehk gave the god a whimsical smile. “Many do, serjo.”

“You will know this one by his hands.”

Vehk sighed. More riddles.

“And what shall I do for this noble mer?”

The visitor took a breath, and when they spoke their voice had the tone of a storyteller or a priest:

“You shall work with him. You shall guide him, confide in him, love him in every way possible. And when the time comes, you shall kill him.”

The prophecy hung in the air. 

“How Chimeri of me. And why did you do this?”

“I did no such thing.” 

Vehk shot them a bewildered look. 

“I told you,” the visitor continued, “A god cannot be a murderer. Vehk the Mortal killed the Hortator. Vivec committed no crime.”

Vehk lit the candle in the pipe and took a long drag.

“Shall I be your daggerlad then, Vivec?” they spoke with sweetness on their breath, “I do the deed, and your hands stay clean?”

Vivec was silent. Vehk closed their eyes and leaned back.

“Yes.” the god replied. 

When Vehk opened their eyes, they were gone.


End file.
